It eScapes me just now…

28 Jun

Phooar missus I love scapes. There are a few seasonal foods that make me absolutely giddy when they appear in local shops, and the garlic scape is one. A fragrant aroma and taste like garlic, but with the intensity taken out. They are truly a wonderful thing in the kitchen.  What can you do with a scape, you might wonder…pfft what can’t you do with them??

Chopping scapes with the trusty mezzaluna. Two handed chopping tools are safer for some of us....

Well actually…

1. They are of no use in defending yourself against trendy vampires. It’s just a scape, not a bulb. Stop looking for miracles, tilt your neck and accept that you may be spending eternity sparkling and acting like an angsty, hormonal, pain in the ass 16 yr old. Lucky you.

2. You cannot use them as an adult toy.  I know what you are saying: “Anything, applied with enough vigor and/or repetition can be an adult toy.” Normally that is true, but after exhaustive research and more than a few “focus groups” (at best awkward, at worst involving the authorities*),  I can tell you that is not so.

But you can do many things.  Tonight I got out the mezzaluna (the somewhat frightening instrument in the picture above) and minced some scapes to saute with bacon for an omelette. Pretty marvelous.

Scapes and bacon!

Scapes and bacon! Yes, that is a lot of scapes. I live alone, folks.

Scapes are also great for things like soup and pesto, both of which will freeze like a treat – allowing you a little taste of early summer some time later in the year.

Well don’t just sit there…get yourself down to your market and get some scapes!

* And thanks for that Mr. Jorgenson. You could have just taken your $50  and left in a huff, but no we had to go and involve the constabulary.

Will the smock-like patterned shirt come for me?

23 Jun

I was at a gathering this evening where there were many ladies. Gazing around the room for a bit, I realized there was a pattern that connected many of these women. Most of these women.

It was this:

The smock-like  shapeless, patterned blouse.

I understand the covering of the face, but the smiles? Ladies you have nothing to smile about. Those shapeless smock shirts are bringing you down.  They are bringing our whole gender down, robbing us of any semblance of some of the best things that makes us women. They steal away shape,  sensuality,  natural feminine lines.  They replace these with stripey lines in aqua, lavender and ecru. Try as you like to make these look fun in this picture – and as models you are working for a living. I can respect that. But you’re making this appealing to someone – not just someone….a roomful of women apparently. And they are buying it.

The more I looked around the room, the more I realised that all of the smock-shirt wearing ladies were of a similar age. An age not that far off mine, really. That’s when I began to sweat a bit. These are smart women – thinking women. And yet here they sit, in the smock-like stripey blouse.  I am a smart woman, a thinking woman. How did the smock-like stripey shirt get past them?  If it got past them, surely it will be able to steal past me.   Will the day come when I am in a changing room,  running my hand over  the shiny synthetic surface of the dart-free, pleat-free, shape-free front of a blouse that is obscuring the very thought of me having breasts, thinking “This will do”?  Will my will to be a woman ease out of my pores like a final, dying gasp?*

When that day comes – and judging by the numbers in that room it is coming – just put me out to pasture on a cruise ship somewhere, won’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll have picked up a set or two of these:

Christ I just hope I can muster up a smile.

*Yes, I may have slightly overstated the many complex things that constitute being a woman. You may take that as a measure of my fear of the smock-like stripey shirt.

The Last Will and Testament of Me.

22 Jun

I HAVE A THING ON MY  EYE.

I always wanted to go out in a blaze of guns, or even hurtling off a cliff in a convertible, holding hands with a good but mostly platonic female friend.   Mostly.

Not from an eye bump. I’m scared .  Scared and without medical assistance .

For all the chance I have of getting help, I may as well go live in a ditch in the Sudan or something. Not to pick on the Sudan…I’m just reaching for a place where I feel I could not get  medical attention easily,  and they fit the bill. Unless they have a really friendly universal health policy of which I am unaware. And  I imagine the desert conditions  make the ditches drier and less disgusting than here, not quite so squelchy and full of wet filth.  Hot and parched for sure, but that’s not what I am looking for.

How about a ditch in Poland or somewhere – I think it’s grey, a bit drizzly there.  Some nice drizzle could really pick up a  layer of wet filth. YES POLAND.  I will go to Poland and immerse my eye in ditch water so as to speed my inevitable demise from ocular lumption.

Or , OR, one of my many doctor friends* could hook me up with a decent family physician. Could pull one of their widely lauded connections and help a lumpy-eyed sister out. Boy, it’s times like these when you really find you who your friends are.  (I again refer you to the *)

Because, as it turns out, unless you are planning to have a baby, or already have one, getting a family doctor in Nova Scotia has become nigh on impossible.  Well, OK, not nigh on, but if you want one within easy walking distance of your home/work  – and that just makes me environmentally friendly – then yes, nigh on.  And perhaps that makes me appear a bit lazy, but hands up ladies of Halifax who would like to enhance the experience of a pap test with a Metro Transit appetizer and night cap surrounding it.  I thought not.

My options are limited here: Continue reading

I imagine you are all wondering why I called you here today…

15 Jun

Now that you are all assembled around the table, I guess I will give you a quick update.

I got single.

I got moved, but not really that far.

I still hate spiders.

Anything else you need to know will be issued on a need-to-know basis. Trust me when I assure you the cards have only gotten funnier and I still love you all in that same way.

And now you can buy shirts and other gear. Yeah. Wear me, drink me, button me to your chest.  I am only giving you what you want.

I bet you say that to all the guys…

15 Jun

I’m back and I promise this time I be better. I’ll be more attentive, I’ll notice when you’ve cut your hair, I’ll bring you little gifts.

I swear, this time it will be different.

Trust me, baby.

Boys will be boys.

13 Mar

Here’s a story which every time I tell it to women it causes a reaction of  “OH. MY. GOD.” and when I tell it to men it causes a reaction of “Yeah. For sure.”

Some years ago I used to live in a section of my city that has a fair number of ladies plying their trade on the corners.   These were not the glamorous ladies of Pretty Woman cinderella-tales. They were hardworking ladies who in all likelihood were supporting addictions or other problems with their work.  It’s hard to condemn them – they have reasons and situations often beyond my understanding or experience, but they sure did bring the tone of the neighborhood down. Um, further.    They made it hard for any male pulling up in  a vehicle outside my house, and caused my friend S to have to take her smoke break in the back yard, lest she be mistake for a loitering working lady. (In fairness to the Johns, that coat she had with the big faux fur collar was misleading at best.)

But the ones I found most curious were the morning hookers. The ones on the corners of my largely residential area at 7:30 in the  morning – I’d see them frequently on my way to work.  They puzzled me – I figured they had been out all night, had not made enough and were lingering in hopes of some extra work. But what hope at 7:30 am? Huh you would be surprised. I often saw trucks or cars pull up and around a corner as the ladies hurriedly followed.

When I began dating Mr Wry, I pointed this out to him one morning. “Look at them! Who’d have thought? A.m. hookers doing good business. What kind of guy is trolling for a hooker at 7:30 in the morning???”

Mr Wry looked at me like I was a bit slow.

“It would be easier in the morning,”  he stated, matter of factly,  going on to elaborate:

“If you stay out late to cheat on your wife, she would suspect you were cheating on her. Leave early for the office and you are just a hard working guy who wants to, um, get ahead.”

I stared at him for probably about a full  minute, probably not blinking once.

Morning hookers…who knew?

More meaty love!

9 Mar

NO, it’s not porn.  OK, maybe food porn.

This weekend we took delivery of 1/4 of a cow and MAN was that a lot of meat.

THIS was part of my mother’s portion. She did not eat it all in one sitting, I am told.

It was meat nuttiness

meat!The next day I cooked a ham – something I have never enjoyed.  Pink slippery meat…gah! (I await your ribald comments.)

But it was goooood. It has lots of outer fat which I glazed and it got all crispy and delicious and crunchy and fatty and then I was up at 5am feeling barfy and maybe eating that much straight up pig fat in one sitting is not for me. ( I was repeatedly warned by others to hold back but it was CRUNCHY, people!!)

I  loved it.

Ham… pink slippery meat never tasted so good!